


The right Woman for the Job

by TheUniverseIsRarelySoLazy



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Mycroft IS the British Government
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-09
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-29 17:53:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3905419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheUniverseIsRarelySoLazy/pseuds/TheUniverseIsRarelySoLazy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anthea is wounded in action. Mycroft finds a replacement for her during the time she is hospitalised.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The big grandfather clock strikes ten. As if on command, you slump into your comfortable swivel chair, letting your head fall back, closing your eyes. After staying like this for a few seconds, taking a deep breath, you open them again. The ceiling above you is always shrouded in twilight, the light from the window never reaching into the heights, no matter how big they are. Today, it is a little darker than usual, as there has been a big storm last night and the rain still hasn’t let up. You enjoy the pitter-patter sound of heavy raindrops against the windowpanes, but it would be nice to have some sunshine again. Well, this is London, after all.

You sigh and press a button on your keyboard to lock the screen. Even though you won’t leave your office during the break, you have made a habit of securing everything. Comes with the job, really. All lockable file storage shelves and cabinets in the big room are secured at all time, keys themselves locked up in a safe to which only you and two other people have the corresponding keys. This might sound like an over-the-top measure - frankly you were surprised yourself when you took on the job. But you were quickly convinced of the need for secrecy and security after you were made privy to what exactly was stored in this seemingly inconspicuous room.

Some people would feel alone in a room with nothing but books and files, high shelves and an overall dusty atmosphere. But you enjoy the freedom that this job gives you, without being scrutinised by nosy co-workers, like at your previous job. You haven’t been here long, but are grateful for it every day. You even have the benefit of a small kitchen in one corner of your office - thoughtfully integrated into the room’s design by someone who anticipated a person working here all day.

A cup of tea would do nicely now. Feeling a little tired, you forgo your usual 10am fruit blend and opt for a strong cup of Assam instead. You were never one for coffee. It’s not so much that the taste would bother you, but you can’t stand the smell hanging around after brewing it. It covers up the lovely aroma of old paper and wood permeating the room, somehow feeling like an alien invader in all this calm and quietness.

While the tea steeps, you grab a few files, which you had needed to complete a dossier on the political situation in Kenya, and disappear into the bowels of the room, between the high shelves. Dragging a small step ladder, you quickly find the right place to store them. The organisation system in the room isn’t alphabetical and not even by country. It employs a - frankly rather weird - system of connections between the contents of the individual files, placing related issues close to each other. It was something you had been warned about, but oddly enough you could find everything with ease. It even made your job to find related information for your dossiers easier. 

When you asked who had come up with this sorting organisation, the answer had been: Your employer. Which was funny, because for all the months you had been working here, you hadn’t met him once. You had been filing away information about his exploits, prepare files for him to use. Recently you have even started booking plane tickets and reserve restaurant tables - taking on duties above your normal work in the archive, closer to a PA. You were told that your performance was so impeccable, you were deemed able to help out in more immediate situations than the rather leisurely pace you normally employed in your work. Not complaining, you enjoyed the distraction of these short notice errands. They never made you leave the office so far, so no harm done.

What it did, though, is make your imagination spin. Who was this employer of yours, really? The information in this room was sensitive enough to bring down several political parties. Whole small countries, even. It was regularly used on his exploits, having to do with any and all countries of the world. Restaurants visits and hotel stays were only reserved in the most highest class of all. Jokingly you mused that you might be working for some sort of James Bond. Only that the name of your employer was not Bond, but Mycroft Holmes.

Mycroft Holmes. It sounded antiquated and strangely alluring at the same time. For being such an important person, he was very secretive. You had never heard of him before taking on your current job. Still hadn’t met him. Well, it didn’t matter. You were probably too insignificant for him to even know about you - just a cog in a well-oiled machine, keeping his daily work life going. And that suited you fine. Still, sometimes you couldn’t help but wonder…

One time, when Anthea had visited your office, you had asked her what Mycroft Holmes was like. The PA had laughed loudly at your question and asked why you wanted to know, instead of answering right away. To your surprise, you blushed and dropped the matter immediately.

Anthea was the reason you had the chance to get this job. You had met through your shared hobby: Drawing. Both of you had taken a drawing class in summer a few years ago - and immediately connected. It had been an easy friendship, which you both enjoyed. It helped that you didn’t mind only meeting up for a drink every few weeks because of her work schedule. She confessed that she had lost the connection to many people in her life because of the time-demanding work, and that she was very happy to have found someone who didn’t measure friendship in time spent together.

It was half a year ago when you complained about your job at the library - mostly because of your new co-workers. Anthea pulled some strings and got you an interview for the newly open position in her company’s archive. You passed both the interview and the security screening with flying colors and found yourself in your dream job. So, even though it would be nice to actually know your employer, it was all fine this way.

The tea bag lands in the trash can. You grab your cup and move over to the window, where you had placed a little chair. Outside the window is a little park, and you like to observe the people during your break. But today is a soaking wet day and the only thing you can see is a duck, waddling along the grass. In a fit of boredom, you grab the sketching pad, you always carry with you, and a soft pencil. A few books are placed on the windowsill, along with a few other items. A quick practice sketch during your tea break can’t hurt. You don’t have anything else to do than tidying up, anyway. Mr. Holmes and Anthea had been away for the last week, and you had completed your open assignments a few days ago. Cleaning up a little was never bad, but with nothing to work on, there wasn’t much to put away.

The pencil dances lightly across the rough paper, capturing the outlines and shapes of the objects in front of you. The details on the books and objects are quickly brought to paper by an experienced hand. The tea cup isn’t empty yet. You decide to include the window and tree branches outside of it into your picture, as well. Soon, you find yourself lost in detailing out all the little leaves of the oak, which sway in the stormy wind.

So lost, you don’t even realise the door of your office opening and closing and someone stepping behind you. As the person clears his throat, you jump at the sudden noise and the pencil in your hand draws a fat, black line all across the nearly finished picture.

“Oh my, I am sorry about that. I did not mean to startle you like that.”

You look up to see a man standing behind you. He wears a dark, pinstripe three piece suit and a red tie. A golden pocket watch chain is visible below the suit jacket. An umbrella in his hand. He does look very apologetic.

“Don’t worry. It was just for practice, anyway,” you say after your heart calms down a little from the shock. You put the sketch pad and the pencil on a nearby table and stand up. “How can I help you?”

The man extends his right hand.

“Mycroft Holmes. I do not think we have met previously.”

Oh. Mycroft Holmes. Now that was a surprise. You hope it doesn’t show on your face.

“I don’t think so,” you grab the offered hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

“I do have to apologise for introducing myself so late,” Mr. Holmes shakes your hand, then returns it to the other one on the umbrella handle. “I really should have come down here earlier. I heard a lot of good things about you from Anthea.”

“Oh, thank you,” you blush a little, mentally writing a little thank-you note to your friend - the light from the window doing a good job of illuminating your face, so that you don’t even have to hope the blush won’t be visible. You clear your throat. “What brings you here, Mr. Holmes?”

“You have been taking care of some of Anthea’s duties in the last weeks, is that correct?”

“If you’re talking about tickets and reservations, then you are correct, Sir,” you answer, wondering where this is going.

“Splendid,” his face lights up a little. “Then you are just the woman for the job. Unfortunately, Anthea has been wounded on our last… trip. And…”

“Oh my god, is she alright?”, you blurt out, cutting Mr. Holmes off mid-sentence. You quickly realise your error and lower your head apologetically, but he just chuckles.

“Yes, she is alright, no need to worry. But she does have to stay under surveillance in the hospital for at least a week. And this is why I am here. Your work experience here, albeit short, makes you the ideal candidate to stand in for Anthea for the time she is inconvenienced.”

Your have to do a double take. You? Stand in for Anthea as Mycroft Holmes’ PA? You unconsciously scrutinise the man briefly, but then your eyes lock. He gives you a warm smile and you allow yourself to look into his stormy, blue eyes for more than a few seconds for the first time. You have no idea what you are getting yourself into, but find yourself unable to refuse.

“If you think me qualified enough, it would be my pleasure, Sir.”


	2. Chapter 2

Two days on the road. You are starting to understand the need for expensive restaurants and hotels. It is not so much the luxury, but the opportunity to get away and relax, if just for a little while. It seems that being in London doesn’t mean having an easy time for Mycroft Holmes. As much as he likes to emphasise his horror of legwork, he is out and about pretty much all the time. This could also explain why you hadn’t seen him around the office building before he sought you out.

Accompanying him on his errands means that you spend just as much time in the black car as he does. You didn’t even know there were so many ambassadors and dignitaries to meet in London. With every hour you spend in Mr. Holmes company, your respect for him deepens. If he was even half as tired as you after the long days, he didn’t show even a hint of that. Always calm and collected, polite and… yes, you could even say graceful. You do your best to keep up with him and his fast thoughts, quick decisions. It is a challenge. But you love challenges. And if Anthea can do it, so can you.

“No, not that one. The file on the Brighton issue,” you speak into your phone, trying to keep your voice down, but getting more annoyed by the minute. “No, I know that is also labeled Brighton. But I need the names in the one in the second shelf from the window.”

Mr. Holmes is occupied with writing something in his little notebook and doesn’t give you much attention, as you both sit in the back of the car on your way back from a meeting at Buckingham Palace. You weren’t allowed to see whomever he was meeting, but you could do worse than having a tea at the palace in the morning, while waiting for the meeting to finish.

“It does make sense,” you groan. “It’s not my fault you can’t find it. Don’t worry, I’ll look for it myself in the afternoon.”

With a sigh you hang up.

“I see why Anthea has been much more relaxed during those last few months,” a low voice murmurs from the seat of the other side. “I have not heard any conversation like this from her in a while. You seem more adept at supporting her work than whoever is currently standing in for you.”

“You are too kind,” you mumble, raising your head to see Mr. Holmes looking at you as if he is trying to figure out a puzzle. 

You suddenly feel a lot warmer and direct your gaze back to your phone, starting to type some notes to escape his scrutiny. The elicits a chuckle from the other man.

“You look just like Anthea, typing away. Is that the effect I have on people?”

“Oh, no, Sir. Sorry,” you quickly answer and snap close your phone. “I’m not quite used to this yet.”

“It’s fine,” he says and writes some more lines into his notebook. “You’re holding up well. Having someone who understands my filing system is rather helpful. It was meant as a compliment.”

“...thank you.”

You chastise yourself for the unprofessional exchange of words. There is probably only so much patience a man like Mycroft Holmes has. At least you have been filling Anthea’s shoes fine so far. Frankly, there wasn’t much out of the ordinary going on. Meeting after meeting, driving around in the city. Nothing you couldn’t handle. Even though you’ve never actually learned to be a PA...

The car comes to a stop. Mr. Holmes closes his notebook and puts it into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. You look at the clock hands of your wristwatch. 1pm. You had made a lunch reservation - this must be the restaurant. Mr. Holmes straightens his jacket while he steps out of the car. Unsure on how to proceed, you take a few seconds to check your clothes. It is an awfully fancy restaurant, after all. You must have taken a little bit too long, as a head sticks back into the car.

“Are you not joining me?”, Mr. Holmes asks.

“Ah, no. Yes,” you stumble. “I mean, I’ll be right there.”

A short nod and the head disappears again. You make sure not to dawdle any longer and quickly follow him, carrying with you the bag with the files for the afternoon, to go over at lunch. Just as you enter the restaurant, your phone receives a message. A quick glance confirms that your replacement back at the archive has found the right file, after all, and sent over the required information. You make a mental note to record that you would have found it about ten minutes faster.

A waiter welcomes you immediately and motions to follow him. You walk past all the other tables to the door of a small greenhouse, which is attached to the house. After you enter the room, you realise that there’s only one table in the middle of the plants, directly at an open door, which leads into the small garden. It feels rather romantic in its seclusion, but you’re aware that the privacy is needed for the discussion of sensitive information. But having the nicest table in the house available during lunch is a great added bonus.

Mr. Holmes excuses himself for the fact that the food is already ordered, and you don’t get to choose, but you don’t have a lot of time anyway. The conversation is naturally focused on work. You answer any questions Mr. Holmes might have about the content of the files, though he seems to ask only to confirm his own knowledge. It makes you feel a little bit like on a test, anxious to give the right answer, as if you’re being judged. Little nods confirm your bits of information. The game continues until the dessert arrives about twenty minutes after the meal started. Everything on schedule, you think and grin. Mr. Holmes closes the file and hands it back to you.

“Something urgent has come up, which requires my presence,” he says and eyes the small piece of chocolate cake, which has been placed in front of him. “We’re leaving right after the meeting concerning the issue in Brighton. You can skip that one. My driver will bring you to your home to collect some things for two nights and then you can wait at the office until I arrive.”

Okay, now that was a rather sudden change of pace. You blink taking the new information in - then nod cautiously. You had hoped to stay in London during the two weeks. Challenge or no challenge, you feel like this is slowly getting out of hand. But Mr. Holmes would’ve never considered you to help out, if he didn’t think you could handle it?

“My appointments until Saturday will have to be rescheduled, of course,” your table neighbour says and opts to eat the raspberry on top of the cake slice first.

“Yes, sir. I will take care of it,” you try to sound confident, but you dread the amount of phone calls this will take. Maybe this job isn’t for you, after all. Well, it’s just until Anthea is better…

Your reply earns you a nod. You see Mr. Holmes push the chocolate cake around on his plate, then put the fork down. He isn’t going to eat it. You don’t dare ask why. Your cake is already gone, and you feel a little bad because of that.

Without a word, Mycroft Holmes rises from his chair and looks at you questioningly. You nod and grab the bag, rising to your feet as well. You leave the restaurant together - black car parked out front as you left it. He doesn’t pay. It’s probably already taken care of. What a different world...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will continue at a very slow pace, as I don't really have time to write now...


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update time! Sorry for taking so long!

It should have been two nights. But the way the negotiations are going, this doesn’t seem likely. Your trip brought you to the British countryside and a big manor. There are talks going on between two big industry leaders, about a fusion of their companies. What had started out as a quick thing of one day had escalated even quicker. Now they need a skilled negotiator to get both parties together again - and as the marriage of these two companies can potentially have a big influence on the British economy, they brought in the best negotiator they could get: Mycroft Holmes.

But it seems like even Mr. Holmes’ expertise isn’t enough this time. The parties get caught up in details and argue about every last dot in the documents. They seem to have an endless supply of energy. You can see that it is, nonetheless, an exhausting task for all participants, but especially for Mr. Holmes. He gets more irritated every day.

The whole manor is kindly made available to use by a private individual for the talks as neutral ground. You are situated in an office next to the big dining hall, which has been temporarily transformed into a meeting room. It really is a beautiful setting. The gardens surrounding the house are vast and provide enough privacy. 

There are many people around - mostly assistants of the participating parties and some additional householding staff. But even though there are not enough offices for everyone, you have a whole room for your own at the center of the house, overlooking the rose gardens. At first you were anxious about the trip, taking you away from your familiar surroundings. But now you realise that it really is just the normal job, just in a more beautiful setting. Apart from rescheduling countless appointments and taking calls from increasingly annoyed people, who just haven’t realised that they are not important enough to be put through right now.

A knock on the door comes during one such phone call. You start to get a routine in these things and jot some details down on your notepad as the door opens. You don’t immediately look up, but rather confirm the details again before politely saying goodbye. Expecting the butler of the manor, you turn around, but instead find Mr. Holmes standing in the doorway. He inclines his head, as if to ask permission to enter the room. You nod and gesture to a chair next to yours at the big desk, which your files currently occupy.

Mr. Holmes closes the door behind himself and walks over with carefully measured steps - not one loud sound even on the polished wooden floors. He sits down next to you and visibly relaxes into the chair. The tension drops from his shoulders and a big sigh escapes him. You gesture to the tea pot and he nods, accepting a cup. You drink together in silence for a few minutes, until Mr. Holmes places his cup back on its saucer.

“Ah, perfect. Just what I needed,” he sighs again. “A little moment of silence.”

You smile, but quickly turn your head back to the files as you see Mr. Holmes looking at you.

“Actually I just came to ask you something, but you looked so serene, all alone in this quiet room, I could not help myself. I hope you do not mind I joined you.”

“Ah, not at all, sir,” you quickly answer.

“Good.. good,” he says and takes the last sip of tea. “Now for the reason of my visit. Someone has decided that it would be a good idea to hold a little party tonight. Just to… ‘up everyone’s spirit a little.’ Frankly, they just hope that good food and a lot of alcohol will ease the tension. I can not blame them. Well, in any case, you are invited to join in as well. Should you decide to do so, you should find a dress in your room.”

Having finished his explanation, Mr. Holmes rises from the chair. “Please excuse me, as I have some hours of tediousness ahead of me. Really, one should think that men in their position are able to form more coherent arguments. Be assured that my usual business is not so… unstructured.”

He smoothes some creases from his light grey suit and rights his tie before nodding at you and departing from the room. You also nod your greetings and turn back to the business at hand. The previous notes are checked again against the schedule for the next days and you are able to find an opening for a telephone conference next Thursday. Not as early as the other person had hoped, but then again, very few individuals were important enough to push appointments around for.

You force yourself to complete the days work - before your brain can catch up on what just happened - cancelling and rescheduling most of Mr. Holmes work until the beginning of next week. (You do have a tendency to overthink things when your brain gets the chance.) The talks threaten to reach into the weekend. If they don’t… well, you figure your boss could use a little down time. Even though you think he probably won’t take advantage of the cleared schedule, but work anyway.

The clock strikes five as you close your laptop and put it into the lockable desk, together with all other items you have worked on today. They say the room is very secure, but you don’t want to take chances. After locking the door, you wander along the first floor to the gallery above the main hall. Arriving in the big, airy room, you can see several members of one of the industry representatives standing near the entrance door, talking with agitated voices. Mr. Holmes arrives from the east wing and joins them, soothing the tempers. One of them shrugs, two others shake their head. It doesn’t seem like they are happy, but the discussion seems over for now. All of them ascend the stairs to the second floor, where the rooms are. As they pass by you exchange polite greetings. You still don’t feel like they respect you, but your official status and connection to Mr. Holmes makes them wary and therefore polite.

You look down into the hall again to see Mr. Holmes looking up at you.

“The party starts at six,” he says, not loudly, but his voice carries across the room. “Meet me here in half an hour?”

It seems like you have just decided to attend the party. But did it just seem like Mr. Holmes was looking forward to seeing you later? Maybe you imagined it… he was quite far away, after all.

“Alright,” you say and start walking towards your room on the first floor while trying not to stare back at him, as you are quite aware that he is watching you.

The room you have been given is a small en-suite to the back of the house. It is quiet and rather cute. One big window into the garden still provides enough light to navigate without turning on the light in the room, which you prefer. You make a mental note to thank your past self for tidying up behind yourself as you see a box lying on the bed, which hasn’t been there before. Whoever brought it in is now under impression that your private life is as well organised as your work. You smirk at the thought. If they only knew…

Trying not to let curiosity get the better of you, the box gets opened carefully. It reveals a white dress, about knee length. The cut is plain, but adorned with countless small stitched roses in black, snaking around the bottom of the dress and up to the waist. The white cloth reaches just below your shoulders in the back, but in the front all the way up to your chin, where you can fasten it around your neck with a broad, black lace ribbon.

You caress the cloth. It feels crisp and new - never worn before. A strange, warm feeling pools in your stomach at the thought of someone having chosen and bought that dress especially for you. You try and talk yourself out of the idea that this person had been Mr. Holmes himself, but the very thought just makes you feel so happy, that it doesn’t quite work.

A glance at the clock shows that you’ve been admiring the dress and daydreaming for almost ten minutes. With a little jump you start towards the bathroom to get yourself ready for the evening. You are finished in record time. Standing in front of the big mirror next to the door, you admire your figure in the dress. It fits perfectly - as if someone knew your measurements to the millimeter. Your thoughts begin to wander again at the idea of who that someone could be. But you shake your head to make yourself snap out of it, then smooth down the fabric of the dress one last time and make your way to the agreed meeting point.

You arrive at the lobby to find it empty. Walking down the stairs slowly, some people emerge from the other side of the first floor and pass you on your way down, nodding some greetings. They are dressed quite fancy for this cocktail party and any thought you might have had for being overdressed is overshadowed by one look at the other woman’s brightly colored red dress. If anything you might even be dressed understated. But that is perfectly alright, as you are acting more as a background character tonight, anyway. As long as the discussion participants have a good time, the goal of the night will be met.

As you reach the bottom of the stairs and walk past the entrance door, you can see Mr. Holmes standing outside, talking agitatedly on his phone. Curious to see what has put him in such an annoyed mood, you walk outside - you were supposed to meet up with him, after all. Coming closer, you start to make out individual sentences.

“... last time, Sherlock. You will just have to stay until I can return... No, no I can’t send Anthea. Did you even listen to me when I… Well, then give my regards to inspector Lestrade when you call him.”

As Mr. Holmes notices your approach, he smiles apologetically and points to his phone before turning away from you.

“No. I don’t care if John… Fine. You know what? I will call the inspector. Yes, indeed… No, of course not. They will have all the time in the world to examine your quarters while you are locked away,” Mr. Holmes holds the phone away from his ear and you hear muffled shouting. “You should try to be less… disagreeable when asking for a favour. See what good it does you behaving like this again. Consider it a small lesson.”

The phone call is cut off and Mr. Holmes places the device into his inner suit pocket. He then takes a deep breath and smoothes down his jacket in a deliberate move to calm himself. Then he turns around and gives you something between a sad smile and a smirk.

“Apologies. Just some... family matters.”

You nod. Of course you have read the files - well, what little there was. But everyone in London knows Sherlock Holmes. The hat detective. It had been a little surprise to learn that these two people are related, being so different on the outside. But apart from some files about the matter, Mr. Holmes has never mentioned the fact to anyone. It is almost like he doesn’t want people to know about it. But you know, of course, so he doesn’t seem all that secretive around you. You smile at the thought.

“Is that amusing?” Mr. Holmes asks as his phone chirps again. He rolls his eyes at whatever he just received and flips a little switch at the side of the device to turn the sound off.

“Oh, no, sir. Sorry,” you say. “I was just… thinking.”

“Hm,” he eyes you curiously for a few seconds and you catch yourself trying not to think about anything, as it feels like he could read your thoughts at any second. “No matter now. Come on, let’s join the others.”

He steps ahead of you and holds the door. Together you make your way through a long hallway and reach a big room in the back of the house, overlooking the gardens, which is very light and airy because of the big glass windows. Doors could be opened to gain access to a terrace outside, but even though the weather had been rather fine during the last days, it is still autumn and the evening brings a chill. You are happy to see the doors closed because no matter how beautiful the dress is, it is rather thin and the few minutes outside had you already shiver a little.

All in all there might be roughly thirty people in the room, and all of them are smartly dressed. You recognise the industry members and their assistants, some government officials and the household staff. There are some new faces, which you can’t quite place. There are no tables in the room, so everyone might mingle freely. The music happily tinkles along in the background. It looks like the perfect cocktail party right out of an advert, and everyone seems to be very intent of keeping it that way. Appearances and such.

You settle into the corner of the room with a glass of champagne in your hand while Mr. Holmes makes his round, greeting certain people. With no one to talk to, you feel a little out of place. Not nervous or insecure, because you are perfectly fine with being on your own, but even with the fancy dress, you feel like an outsider. Anthea has probably had her fair share of these events already, and would’ve proved to be of very good use interacting with the other attendees. You on the other hand feel pretty useless.

Time passes. You can see other people sometimes glancing at you, but your special status still seems to make them wary to get close. Or maybe they are just asking themselves where Anthea is and why the hell such an inexperienced… girl is now here, being totally awkward. You sigh and take another sip of the champagne from the glass that you’ve been nursing for a while.

Observing the crowd, you suddenly make eye contact with Mr. Holmes, who is standing on the other side of the room, next to the glass doors. He waves for you to join him as soon as he has established that you are indeed looking at him. You nod and slowly make your way through the other people, carefully snaking around the little groups engaged in conversation. The bits and pieces of talk you can hear range from politics to baking recipes - no one seems to be in the mood to touch on the fusion talk tonight. But still, the atmosphere is calm and the groups are mixed from both sides of the table, so it seems like it might be a favourable evening after all.

Mr. Holmes welcomes you with a smile as you reach him and an elderly woman, with whom he had apparently been engaged in conversation.

“May I introduce Lady Ashford,” he says and gestures at the woman. “She has been so kind to let us use the manor for our talks.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Lady Ashford,” you say and shake the offered hand.

“Likewise, love,” Lady Ashford says. “So you are Anthea’s temporary replacement? How is she?”

“She should be out of the hospital next week,” you answer, wondering if you are even allowed to share the information, but she knows about her situation, so you deem it okay. “I’ve barely been able to keep everything together in her absence and shall be glad to see her return.”

“Nonsense, you have performed admirably during the last days,” Mr. Holmes says. “Let no one tell you otherwise.”

“I’ll drink to that,” you laugh and receive a smile and raised glass from Lady Ashford as response.

“Nevertheless, also to Anthea’s speedy recovery,” she adds.

“And to a quick solution to a more immediate matter,” Mr. Holmes says as three glasses meet in the middle.

You feel a lot better. Lady Ashford seems like a nice person and entirely unthreatening - though looks can be deceiving. The three of you engage in meaningless small talk about this and that, though Mr. Holmes mostly keeps quiet. You can see that he’s only partly following your conversation and has his eyes on everything, which is happening in the room. So it is not very surprising when he suddenly excuses himself to talk to a group of people closer to the drinks table.

“He is quite charming in his own, odd little way, isn’t he?”

The question is asked as Mr. Holmes is out of earshot and startles you, predictably.

“I… sorry?” you feel a sudden flush of heat and hope it doesn’t show.

“It’s hopeless with Anthea, but he seems very fond of you, love.”

You frown. Mr. Holmes? Fond of you? Your thoughts start to race, but nothing coherent forms. A little while passes, and no answer is apparently also an answer, as Lady Ashford grins.

“Don’t mind me, just an old woman talking. I find that coming to the point quickly is a much more comfortable way of living,” she laughs again and takes another sip of red wine. “In any case, just wanted to let you know, because I’ve seen how you look at him.”

“I… I’m not sure I should…” you start, but quickly get cut off by a headshake.

“You don’t have to explain anything to me, love. Just a little meddling from someone who likes to do a little match-making now and then. And, god, could Mycroft use it.”

That seems to be it, as the conversation returns to more normal topics about daily life and - funnily enough - an exchange of pet stories of the cats you both had as children. The mood is light and you have almost forgotten about Lady Ashford’s comment as Mr. Holmes returns.

“I’m sorry for departing so suddenly,” he apologises. “But I saw a chance, and I think we might have a solution to the talk tomorrow now.”

“Well, this is what you are here for, Mycroft,” your conversation partner remarks. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. I had a lovely time talking to you, love, but a social function like this requires me to talk to some more people. See you later.”

You nod at Lady Ashford, who disappears between the people, politely nodding at everyone she passes.

"Did you enjoy yourself with Lady Ashford?" Mr. Holmes asks.

"She is a very... warm person," you say as answer, hoping it conveys your opinion. From the smile on his face you can see that it does.

"The Lady is an old friend of my mother," he explains. "Having known me for almost all my life, she does like to meddle a little. She hasn't told you any stories about my childhood, has she?"

"Oh, no. Nothing of the sort," you answer, but your voice betrays your nervousness. "Just... cat stories, really."

Mr. Holmes narrows his eyes as if he is judging your words. "Only cat stories?"

"Not only," you admit. "But nothing of interest..."

"Are you sure?" he says and steps closer to you. "I specifically asked her to mention one or two things, you know?"

You go rigid as you feel Mr. Holmes hand come rest in the small of your back. His fingers are slowly caressing your skin through the fabric of your dress. You are pretty sure that no one in the room has noticed the gesture so far, but frankly, you don't care right now. All your senses concentrate on the digits resting against you.

"Is this alright?" your companion asks you quietly.

You allow yourself to relax into the touch. Realising your approval, Mr. Holmes smiles at you and lowers his head to your ear. "Would you care to step outside for a minute?"

All thoughts about the cold are forgotten as you nod your agreement. Somehow you are not really concerned about the chill anymore. You are led outside quickly, as the doors to the terrace have just been in your back. Night has fallen and there are no lights outside - the terrace is only illuminated by the light from inside. Mr. Holmes drapes his tuxedo jacket over your shoulders and leads you to the edge of the terrace, which lies almost in darkness.

"So," he says quietly as you have reached the a place pretty much out of sight from the main building. "What did Lady Ashford have to say about me?"

You still have a hard time concentrating, but you kick yourself inwardly for being such a passive and incoherent mess at the moment. Clearing your throat, you summon up some courage.

"She told me that you are charming in you own odd way," you say, recounting the most harmless part of the conversation.

As Mr. Holmes reacts, it is rather an amused chuckle than a full fledged laugh, but you can see that it is indeed a real reaction. "And?"

You raise your head to look into his eyes. "That you are rather fond of me, apparently."

"Hmm..." he muses and smirks. "That would be an understatement."

The blush in your face must be visible even in the dark as he puts his arm onto your back again and pulls you closer so your bodies touch. How is he radiating so much heat on this chilly night?

"I haven't had the pleasure of asking if you are also fond of me?"

"I... I think I am," you answer, not breaking eye contact and hoping your voice doesn't sound as shaky as you feel.

"Perfect."

He pulls you even closer and places the other hand in your hair. Your faces are now only centimeters apart. A predatory smile shows on his lips and he licks them once. Your breath hitches a little as you wait for him to make a move.

"As expected, the dress suits you so well, my dear," he whispers. "From the moment I saw you wearing it, I wanted to do this. Well, frankly I have bought it with the intention in mind already. Would you mind if I kissed you now?"

Instead of answering, you raise your head, and in a bold move press your lips to his.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Return to work.

It has been two weeks. Well, almost two weeks. It feels longer. Two weeks since you were out there, in the field. Your return from the negotiations had neatly coincided with Anthea’s release from the hospital. Now you are back at your old job. Back at the desk in the old filing room. You can’t deny that it feels good to be back. The work in the field is exciting, but you feel like this quiet place suits you a lot better. Your replacement had - predictably - made a mess of things. But you hadn’t been particularly angry about that. Cleaning up and maintaining the place on top of your usual work keeps your mind off things. Off thinking about Mycroft, most importantly.

Apart from meeting up with Anthea for an evening to bring her up to speed about the things (not all things, of course), which had happened during her absence, you haven’t had any contact with Mycroft, or have spoken about him, during the last two weeks. Like before your adventure, assignments and requests reach you through Anthea and you deliver the results directly to her.

On the outside, you look calm. At least you fervently hope you do. Because on the inside, there’s a storm of uncertainty, longing and confusion raging. Uncertainty because you haven’t heard from Mycroft at all during the last weeks. Longing because… well, who could ever forget a scene like that? But everything was dulled down by a big part of confusion of what to do next. No matter what had happened, it seemed more like a fantasy, the further it slipped into the past, even though the images were still more than vivid in your mind. Arguing with yourself every day, you still don’t manage to work up the courage to speak with Mycroft. And how would you even approach him on a matter like that? Because you’re not even sure why it all had happened in the first place. What would you say?

Your thoughts wander back to the evening of the party. Your hands grabbing onto his shirt, his hands pulling you closer, always closer. A kiss, which you had control of for almost two seconds, until Mycroft had deepened it and taken your breath away. As your mouths parted, he embraced you and you buried your head in his shoulder. You stayed like this for what felt like a small eternity, while his hand stroked your hair, chin resting on top of your head.

“Please call me Mycroft when we’re alone,” he had whispered.

“It would be my pleasure,” you had replied with a smile on your face.

Then he pressed a kiss to your forehead and gave you a fond smile as you parted, excusing himself. You were left standing alone on the terrace, his jacket warm around your shoulders, a lingering impression of his lips on yours.

You let out a frustrated sigh, breaking the silence of the room. There is no use moping around when there is work to do. You are not going to let yourself go like a lovesick (you wonder at the choice of words your mind supplies you with) teenager. There is a reason why you’re here, working this job, and that is because you’re the best at it. And damn any stupid men that try to keep you from doing your best - a fact which would not only be disrespectful to the work but also to your colleagues trying their best as well. A stack of files from last night still rests on your desk. You grab it and disappear between the shelves to put them back into their rightful place. 

Now that everything is cleaned up and in order again, you feel right at home between the mountains of books and paper. The unavoidable atmosphere of old dust, getting stirred up where you go, welcomes you back and you quickly get lost in rearranging parts of some shelves, that look like they could use some more structure, as you put back file after file from the shrinking stack.

One file has to go way up, almost to the ceiling. Seventh shelf from the bottom. You sigh. Sometimes, being small doesn’t have its advantages. But not that even a tall person could’ve reached so high up… You place the stack of files on a nearby side table and go to fetch the step ladder, situated in the room just for this purpose. Rolling it over takes a few minutes - not because the distance is so far, but because you get lost in thought along the way as you spot the chair in which you sat as Mycroft first visited you in your office.

Putting away the files should be an easy task now. You grab the two folders, filled with paper and kept close by a piece of string and ascend the stairs of the ladder. It takes you a while to decide where to place them exactly on the shelf for later easy access.

“Busy?”

A voice startles you and you drop the book you were currently holding, swaying a bit, and grab hold of the shelf to steady yourself. The book falls to the floor, landing with a resounding thump on the old wooden flooring. Having landed on the spine (luckily), it flops open to reveal the written content. You curse under your breath.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you like that,” Mycroft says quietly and reaches down to pick up the book. “You usually always realise when someone enters the room.”

You turn around to see the government official stand next to the ladder, head reaching about as high as your knees. He reaches up and to hand you the book, which you grab with some words of thanks.

“No worries. Here, let me help you down.”

First you want to protest. You’ve been going up and down these steps for quite a while now, and you really don’t need any help. But then you see Mycroft’s outstretched hand and the opportunity to touch him is worth more than any dignity in that moment. Hesitating for just a few moments, you place your hand in his and step down. But when you arrive at the bottom, your hands are still connected, as it seems like no one wants to let go. Finally, Mycroft gives your fingers a squeeze and pulls his hand back. Both of you eye the other with curiosity and a little bit of nervousness. It is Mycroft, who breaks the silence.

“I confess I left you with little to go on and I truly am sorry for this,” he starts without talking around the subject. “I assure you I would’ve approached you sooner, if…”

“...you didn’t have to go to Australia?”

Mycroft blinks, looking temporarily caught off guard. Then he smiles. “Exactly.”

“I put together the dossier,” you explain. “But I didn’t know that you were going yourself.”

“There were some people, who had to be convinced. I do my convincing in person. It is more effective this way.”

You summon your courage and straighten your posture. “It wouldn’t have killed you to call. Or just send a message, even.”

A sad smile appears on Mycroft’s face and he raises one hand to your cheek, thumb gently stroking your face. “Oh, but it would have.”

Now it is your time to be caught off guard. You lean into the touch and unconsciously grab onto his suit in the same way you did on the evening of the party two weeks ago. This motion pulls him closer to you and you look up to meet his stormy, blue eye.

“It would have killed me to confess my love and then leave you for two weeks, my dear.”

Considering the way the world suddenly starts spinning, it is lucky that you are already holding on to Mycroft, because your legs start giving out with the realisation of what you just heard. All worrying and questioning of the last weeks falls from you and apparently so does the tension, which had kept you upright. Ever the gentleman, Mycroft catches you and helps you to sit down on the stairs of the step ladder, then kneels before you and takes your hands in his.

“I was hoping for a reaction, but please refrain from falling down again. Twice in a day is definitely enough,” he laughs, bringing your hands up to place a kiss on both.

You smile as you have found your equilibrium again.

“I must admit that I’m terribly fond of you, Mycroft,” you say softly, mimicking his usual speech pattern. “But the last two weeks have been pretty annoying.”

“I am truly sorry for any distress I might have caused you,” Mycroft answers with an apologetic smile. “Let me make it up to you?”

You nod your agreement. What a question. Did he actually think you would say no now?

“Perfect. Let me take you out to dinner tonight and we’ll start this properly?”

“Start what properly?” you ask, partly because you’re curious, partly because you really want to hear the answer which is floating in your head.

But instead of replying with words, Mycroft leans over and presses a soft kiss to your lips, not letting go of your hands in the process. You remain like this for a while, enjoying the feeling of closeness, the warmth of another body, so close you can feel it radiating, even though you are barely touching.

As your lips part, your faces remain close and you can see a soft gentleness in Mycroft’s eyes which speaks for itself and makes your heart burst. A stupid grin of happiness spreads across your face, which Mycroft mimics before you lean in to kiss him again. It is nothing like the first kiss, but much more urgent and heated. You feel your skin tingle as it deepens and a slight gasp escapes you as his tongue licks along your lips. You open your mouth slightly at the touch, but then feel Mycroft smile against your lips.

“Patience, dear,” he whispers, and his voice sounds just unaffected enough to annoy you a little. “Just wait until tonight.”


	5. Chapter 5

So, wait until the evening? Nothing easier, right? You want throw yourself into work after Mycroft leaves your office, to distract yourself from the long wait. But it seems like your legs refuse to carry you just yet, because even though he just left the office, the reality of it all hasn’t sunken in quite yet. You lift your fingers and trace the lines of your lips, with the memory of the kiss still fresh. A smile sneaks its way onto your face and suddenly you can’t help but laugh out loud. All tension slips away as you giggle so hard, tears come to your eyes. Somehow, this is all so absurd, but it is real, and the realisation makes you bubble with happiness. In that particular moment, you don’t care about what the future might bring, or what implications this all could have. All you care about is the now. And the coming evening, of course.

The day can’t end fast enough. After managing to catch your breath after the laughing spell, you actually manage to get back to work - which is rather easy today, as it just consists of tidying up the place some more and collecting information about several families in Sweden and their connections. This shouldn’t take you more than a few hours.

After lunch, you search through the archives for the required bits of information, discovering a lot of rather… juicy stories about the parties involved, which hints at the reason why you are looking for them in the first place. You snicker while reading some accounts, before compiling the files into a neat, little dossier. Too bad you can’t tell anyone about some of the details… they would make for some funny stories.

Time passes slowly, but it does. Late autumn means that it gets to be dark outside rather early. But rather than turning on the light, you opt to just cease working as soon as you can’t make out the words on the pages anymore. It’s not like you could concentrate on it, anyway. Nervousness has once again taken hold and the quietness of the room - which you adore on any other day - makes you feel like jumping out of your skin at any moment.

You do what every good British person would do at this moment: Make a cup of tea. You opt for a red berry blend and way too much sugar. With the hot cup in hand, you take a seat in the chair next to the window and quietly nurse the drink while watching the wind move the remaining, yellow leaves on the trees. The street light shines through them and casts eerie moving shadows on the building and through the window. Mesmerized by the moving lights and made drowsy by the warm tea, you sink into the comfy chair and close your eyes, nervous energy seeping out. You close your eyes for just a few seconds…

And of course you fall asleep. This small moment of peace after jumping around all day immediately latches onto you. You don’t know how long you have been asleep, but as you slowly blink yourself into a wakeful state, everything is dark and warm. You have curled up on the chair, legs drawn up to your chest. But the first thing you realise is a soft pressure on your lips. And a face, suspiciously close to yours.

Mycroft draws back a bit, and you can see that he is leaning over you, hands on the armrests on either side of the chair. In the twilight of the room, you can’t make out his expression very well.

“Good morning,” he says, almost whispering. “Sorry for keeping you waiting.”

“Morning?” you cautiously extend your legs while yawning, but the only room to stretch them is on either side of Mycroft’s.

“Well, it is rather late, but not yet early enough to call it morning, I admit.”

You glance at your wristwatch, which is telling you that it is almost midnight. It seems like you were totally knocked out for several hours.

“I have to apologise… some urgent matters came up. I’m afraid we missed our dinner reservations,” Mycroft steps back and holds out a hand, which you take without hesitating to pull yourself up. “But if you are still up for it, I would love to invite you to my place for some snacks and a nightcap.”

The implications are obvious, and you appreciate him not talking around the subject, so you nod your agreement, which earns you a soft smile - with an edge of something more and darker playing at the corner of his mouth that immediately makes you feel a bit warmer inside.

“That sounds lovely,” you answer and rise up to place another kiss on Mycroft’s mouth - now that you’re allowed to, it’s something that you seem to want to take advantage of in any possible opportunity. “Let me get my things.”

Your words had sounded confident, but while you’re gathering your possessions, you realise that your hands are shaking a bit. That was to be expected, really. You are about to leave the building with Mycroft Holmes, the man you had thought about as a James Bond character just a few weeks ago (and still somehow do). A person, who you are deeply admiring for his work and… let’s admit it, looks extraordinarily hot in a suit.

Apparently you have been lost in thought for too long, because as just as you close your bag, two hands come to rest on each side of your body, and the heat seems to seep right into your skin as Mycroft draws you backwards. His body comes to rest pressed against yours and you feel him lean down to place his head next to yours. A shiver runs down your whole body and you freeze as you feel a hot breath against your ear.

“I would rather appreciate if you could snap out of your fantasies, so I can take you home and start fulfilling them,” Mycroft speaks in a low voice while presses his lips against your ear.

A small gasp escapes your lips, as the words go from your ear directly deep inside your body. But more than that, it is the realisation that Mycroft seems to want this at least as much as you do, and with that thought you lean back against him. You turn your head towards him and as your eyes meet, there is not only heat, but also a softness about them which just about seems to melt your heart.

“Mycroft?” you ask as he puts his arms completely around your body and holds you close.

“Yes, my dear?” he replies and you have to smile at his choice of words.

You hesitate for a few seconds, but then summon some courage. “As much as it would flatter me, I don’t think you came to love me during the two weeks I acted as replacement for Anthea?” Your breath hitches a bit a the word love, as if you can still not convince yourself this is actually true.

“Clever, so clever,” Mycroft grins and lowers his head. You feel his mouth against your throat and without warning he begins sucking a bruise into your skin. The tingling feeling goes right between your legs and you feel your body becoming a bit boneless. “One of the reasons I started to get interested in you, dear. You’re right, it didn’t start just then, it all began much earlier. But, please, let me take you home, or I can’t guarantee what will happen if I have to stay here for the explanation.”

Mycroft steps back and releases you. Apparently he doesn’t miss the disappointed sigh escaping your mouth and smiles sympathetically when holding out his hand as you turn around. You grab it and let yourself be led through the - now empty - building. Some part of your brain warns you about anyone seeing the pair of you like this, but it is quickly silenced by everything else. Somehow you think that you wouldn’t even consciously see anyone else if you wanted to, right now.

As soon as you have both taken your seat in the back of one of Mycroft’s cars and the doors have closed, he grabs you by your wrist and pulls you on top of him. You can feel his body against yours in all the right ways and slide right up, as close as you can. He chuckles darkly and places his hands on your hip, pulling you even closer. Something hard presses into you between your legs and you gasp breathlessly at the realisation.

"You are trying my patience, dear. Not many people can do so," he whispers and presses his face into your neck again, sucking at the same spot he had bruised earlier. It is just on the right side of painful to make you squirm. "I don't want to scar my driver, so behave, just for a little while."

You nod, but grind your body into his anyway, searching for friction. He shudders for a moment and bites down on your skin. You squeal, but make no attempt to draw away.

"You need to stop me," he huffs as he lets go of your neck. "I seem to slip."

"I don't want to," you reply and raise your hands to cup his face, pushing his head back into the seat. You lean in for a kiss, licking along his lips, which open immediately, letting you inside. You exchange gentle licks and bites for a while, until he deepens the contact, forcing you backward. You fall off his lap onto the floor of the car, and he follows you, pinning your wrists to the carpet. You can feel the car rumbling along the street on your back, feel every little bump in the road. 

Everything inside you shivers as you look up into his eyes, face almost hidden in the shadows. You feel completely and utterly trapped. There is no place you would rather be.

The car comes to a stop.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas, my lovelies! The final chapter as a small present for you. Hope you enjoy! :)

The car comes to a halt and all the noise dies down. You are still lying on the floor, pinned down by Mycroft's body weight. Now that the engine is turned off, you can hear his breath, which seems heavier than ever before. His fingers flex around your wrist, and after what seems like a small eternity, the sound of a car door opening rips you both out the moment. Mycroft disentangles himself from you and slips back into the car seat. He then offers you a hand to sit up, just in time for the driver to knock on the door.

Flustered, you can't even look the driver in the eye, as you disembark the car. Mycroft smiles at you and offers you an arm, which you take with gratitude. The contact makes you feel more safe and stable, as you look around the unfamiliar space. You stand in front of an elevator in a parking garage. There are only a few cars down here, but then again, the space is relatively small. Mycroft presses a button and the elevator chimes within a few seconds.

"After you?" he gestures into the elevator as the doors open.

You step in and see Mycroft exchange a few quiet words with his driver. He then turns around and enters the elevator to join you again. Once again you hold onto his arm as he presses the button for the top floor. You lean your head against his shoulder and suddenly have to giggle. Mycroft frowns when you look at him, which makes you grin even wider.

"What is so funny?" he asks - not exactly annoyed, but you can feel a bit uncertainty in his voice.

"Not funny," you reply, squeezing his arm. "Frankly, this is all just so sudden... I'm still coming to terms with the fact that I'm actually here... with you."

"I think I might know a way to make you get used to this a tiny bit faster," Mycroft smirks and turns around faster than you can react.

He presses you against the wall of the elevator and placed his hands on either side of your head. He stares into your eyes for a few seconds and you feel like the blue irises are swirling waves in a storm, drawing you in. He seems to see something similar in your eyes, as he leans in and slowly licks across your lips. A gasp escapes your mouth and it falls open slightly, which Mycroft sees as an invitation.

As the elevator discreetly chimes on arrival at the top floor, Mycroft is holding your head in his hands, enthusiastically exploring the inside of your mouth with his tongue, making you squirm where you stand, hands grabbing onto the fabric of his shirt. He detaches himself from you with some reluctance and steps back. You slowly open your eyes and try to focus again.

Mycroft offers you his hand and leads you directly into a big room, which opens up directly behind the elevator doors. You take a few steps and then stop to look around, as you find yourself in an airy, two story loft space, which takes your breath away for two reasons. Firstly, it is absolutely magnificent. Modern furniture and understated design gives the place a feeling of classiness, which you associate with Mycroft Holmes. But secondly it is so, so different from what you had expected of Mycroft's home.

"Don't worry, I've got a small house down in Sussex, which probably looks more like you've imagined," Mycroft says in an amused tone and proceeds to help you out of your coat, which he hangs next to his. "This is my town home... It was supposed to be only for weekdays, but I haven't been to Sussex in months now."

You walk over to the large windows, which go from the floor to the ceiling. The view surprises you, as the apartment is overlooking the river Thames. Lights are glittering all over the city and you are mesmerised by the perspective you ever only had from the London Eye before. So you are startled and jump a bit when Mycroft calls out to you from the open kitchen area. You turn around to see that he has taken off his suit jacket and stands behind the counter with shirtsleeves rolled up and the vest still in place.

"I believe I promised you a snack, my dear. Unfortunately, the only thing I can offer you is tea and cake."

You smile at him and start walking over. You had other things in mind, but the mention of food reminds you stomach of the fact that you haven't eaten in over twelve hours. Mycroft still looks at you as if he would rather eat you than the cake, but he's being the perfect gentlemen - once again.

"Cake sounds lovely, but I think I'll skip the tea," you say as you reach the kitchen area.

Mycroft produces two pieces of strawberry shortcake from the fridge and places them on the counter. You look at the cake and then back at Mycroft, an idea popping into your head. Without warning him, you jump up onto the counter, placing yourself sitting on the edge, next to the plates.

"Feed me?" you ask with a sheepish look on your face.

Grinning right back at you, Mycroft steps between your legs and leans in for a kiss first. If the one in the elevator took your breath away, this one is almost sweet and tender, like a gentle caress of your lips. But the tight grip of his hands on your shoulders betrays the tension he carries.

Bit by bit, the soft and sweet cake finds its way into your mouth. You take turns licking the sweet cream off each other's fingers, and slowly the gentle gestures turn ever more heated. By the time that half of the cake is gone, it seems to be all but forgotten, as you have wrapped your legs around Mycroft’s body and he is exploring your neck, kissing and licking your sensitive skin. A small moan escapes your lips as he bites down, not hard enough to bruise, but still somehow forceful.

“Excuse me,” he mutters and it takes you a few seconds to realise that he doesn’t mean the bite but the fact that he is scooping you up to carry you across the room. You cling to him for a small while, until he lets himself fall down onto the sofa, which places you on his lap. You position your legs on each side of his, so that you can straighten yourself up and press another kiss to his lips. Mycroft answers with a little growl and presses himself up against you - and you feel that he is definitely not interested in finishing that cake right now.

“Oh, how I’ve waited for this,” he whispers against your lips, his eyes so impossibly close to yours, that you can see only him. “I’m so glad you are here right now.”

“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else,” you answer, every bit as breathless as he.

Mycroft places a hand on your cheek and you lean into the touch, eyes never leaving each other. His other hand slowly caresses your hair, while you hold onto the cloth of his vest, just like you did when he first kissed you at the party all those weeks ago.

“I have a little confession to make,” he says quietly. “Will you listen to me?”

“Can it wait?”

“I suppose. But I’d rather tell you now.”

“Why can’t we do both?” you ask and lean in to mimick what he had done to you on the counter. You pull at his tie and loosen the shirt collar, then start sucking on the skin in the crook of his neck. You are rewarded with a low moan and a tightening grip of his fingers in your hair. He strains against you, the hand from your cheek having moved to your shoulder, pressing you down into him. You moan against his skin, but don’t let up your ministrations.

“Alright, we’ll play by your rules,” Mycroft says with a heavy voice.

He reaches for his tie to remove it completely and your assist him by opening the top buttons of his shirt. As soon as it’s open, your mouth wanders downwards to Mycroft’s clavicle and your hands descend to continue unwrapping his body, vest buttons following the shirt’s. Mycroft doesn’t seem to know what to with his hands, as they roam your body aimlessly, grasping at the cloth of your top or your hair alternatively and sometimes faltering altogether, as you grind yourself into him, never stopping to suck and bite at his skin.

“Oh god…” he whispers, as finally, his vest and shirt fall completely open, and you place your hands on his skin, raising your head to join your lips once again, but only for a quick kiss, before you draw back to take in the beautiful picture before you.

Mycroft stares at you, eyes unfocused and blown wide, hands lie idly at his side, as if defeated, shirt hanging open, displaying a white chest, dusted with a fine layer of freckles. You draw a finger across the expanse of his skin, as if you had to chart it, check if it’s real.

Then he raises his hands and places them on your hips, grabbing onto the cloth of your sweater. His eyes seem to say: May I? You nod and raise your arms, let him slowly peel you out of the layers of cloth you are wearing, until you sit there only in your trousers and bra, the slightly chilly air of the flat on your skin. It is just a plain, white bra, but the way Mycroft looks at you right now, it might as well be the finest piece of art in the world.

“My dearest,” he says, and places his hands on your sides again, thumbs idly stroking across the skin of your stomach. “I have to admit to have not been entirely truthful, and I apologise - even though the initial idea was Anthea’s.”

You frown and place your hands back on his chest.

“Let me explain as quickly as possible,” he continues. “I’ve had my eye on you even before you started working for the government. I make it my duty to sight all applications relating directly to my position. I… I was immediately captivated by your brilliant mind and quick wit, which made you perfect for the job, and in only weeks, you made yourself indispensable to my work. A quiet, unseen supporter, working diligently and efficiently, never drawing attention to herself.”

You hope your blush is not visible, as you are not used to hearing so much praise, especially not from the man in front of you, but as you cast your eyes down, he puts a hand under your chin to raise your head again. He smiles sweetly, but with an edge of something darker, and brushes his lips past yours on his way down. You get pushed back slightly as he lowers himself to put his face on top of your breasts and begins licking the skin. You shiver at the contact and want to push yourself closer again, but two hands now hold you in place.

“Anthea suggested you as a temporary replacement. I could have handled myself for two weeks, but she is as insistent as she is insightful, so I did not resist for long,” he continues talking while he kisses your skin. “I had every intention of leaving you alone, should you not take to me, but you have exceeded all my expectations, my love. You endeared yourself to me more and more with every passing day, until I found the courage to make a move.”

Courage? Mycroft Holmes needed courage to approach you? You turn your head downwards and stare at him in wonder. You would never have imagined that anything could make him unsure. He notices your motion and turns his head upwards for a moment, searching for your eyes, then grinning. While still holding onto your arms, he catches the cloth of your bra with his teeth and pulls it down to reveal your left breast. With no ceremony, he simply licks across your nipple once, then immediately starts sucking on it. Pleasure rips through your body like a lightning strike and you throw your head back while moaning, and your body goes limp in his hands. Mycroft raises his right hand and with one quick movement, your bra is open and he caresses your other nipple with his fingers, rolling it between them. You squirm on his lap, fingers once again clinging to the cloth of his shirt.

“So sweet,” he whispers against you. “I am so glad you decided to come with me. I have not felt like this for anyone in so long…”

You can not find any words to answer, as his free hand wanders down to cup you through the trousers, fingers digging into your skin.

“Please, let me?” he asks and he doesn’t even have to say what, you just nod and raise your hands to his head to draw him into a heated kiss, which makes you press your body into his, skin finally meeting skin. He feels hot to the touch, so much you almost don’t want to move, but if you are to get out of these clothes, you have to.

Reluctantly, you rise to your feet and leave his lap. You feel cold and exposed immediately, standing in front of him like that, missing the contact already. Mycroft smiles at you and makes the first move by removing his vest and shirt completely, then quickly ridding himself of shoes, socks and trousers, until he sits in front of you, dressed only in black pants, which hide almost nothing.

You are simply staring at Mycroft, watching him undress, taking in every curve of his body, something you had never imagined to see, and now so close, so real. He smiles up at you, and then you realise you have not moved yourself in a while. You nod cautiously, pushing some stray hair behind your ear, and then bend down to slip out of your footwear, socks quickly following. Your toes dig into the carpet as you open the zipper of your trousers and step out of them, now equally as naked as Mycroft, clad only in some simple, white panties.

He leans forward to press a kiss to your stomach, hands finding your behind and caressing you through the thin cloth. Before you know what’s going on, he has already lowered his head and kisses his way down your body, inching closer and closer to the space between your legs. As Mycroft places a kiss on the cloth, closer than ever before, you have to grab his head to steady yourself, as it’s the only thing you can reach right now, and you feel his breath escaping him with a gasp as you tighten your grip in his hair.

“May I?” he murmurs, and you nod readily - as if you would say no now.

He draws the cloth of your panties to the side and immediately presses his tongue between your legs, searchingly for a few seconds, then starts sucking on your clit, wisely supporting you with both arms, as your legs disappear from under you. You will deny the noises escaping you in that moment later, but your enthusiastic reaction seems to only spurn Mycroft on. Your breath quickens, as your whole body seems to tingle and you feel the waves of pleasure wash over you. But even if your body wants to hold on, your legs won’t listen to you anymore and give in after a few minutes.

Mycroft grins as he catches you, depositing you on the sofa as if you would weigh nothing, spreading your legs with his hands and positioning himself between them. He leans over you, bulge of his pants pressed to the most sensitive part between your legs, and the hardness against you sends a pleasant feeling of anticipation through your body, making you open your legs even wider. Mycroft smiles and presses himself even closer, before lowering his head to play with your nipples again.

“I love you so much,” he whispers. “I’m so happy you would have me.”

“Mycroft,” you reply, breathlessly. “Please…”

“I know, my dear,” he chuckles and moves back down the sofa, removing your panties in the progress.

He dips his head down again, continuing where he had left off, and after being stimulated already, you are so sensitive, that you arch up towards him at the first touch, with a loud gasp very audible in the large room. As response, you feel a finger at your entrance, slowly circling it before pressing in. You moan shamelessly at the feeling, too much at first, but very quickly not enough. Between his fingers and tongue, you squirm under Mycroft until you bury a hand in his hair, pulling him upward.

He looks up to your flushed face, while continuing to move his finger inside you and smiles as innocently as he can. You almost have to laugh, but the need is stronger.

“Please, Mycroft. I need you,” you whisper.

“You need me?” he asks sweetly.

“Yes, please…” you respond. “Please…”

“For what?”

“Mycroft…”

He presses a second finger into you along with the first and twists them upwards, which makes you jolt once and breath more quickly. Your eyes go unfocused for a while.

“Say it,” he demands, still sounding calm, despite his actions. “Say it clearly.”

“Mycroft,” you manage to squeeze out. “Please.”

“Say it,” he demands again, fingers moving quickly, making your whole body focus only on them.

“Take me, please. Mycroft. Fuck me. I need you,” you cry, pressing against him so hard that you are startled as the contact is lost all of a sudden.

Mycroft has withdrawn his fingers and moved upwards within seconds, pressing a kiss to your lips. “Good girl. I will only be a moment.”

You watch him walk over to the kitchen area, still squirming on the sofa, as the ghost of his touch has not left you yet. His naked feet make almost no noise on the floor and he moves swiftly across the space. You have not moved from your place as he stands before you again, a small package in his hand. With a quick motion, he draws down his pants, making his straining erection spring free. That pleasant feeling of arousal, mixed with anticipation fills you again, paired with a feeling of emptiness, which needs to be filled right now.

It must be visible in your eyes, as Mycroft rips open the package and rolls on the condom without delay, before kneeling down between your legs again. He extends his hands to grab both of your breasts and pinches your nipples hard to make you arch upwards, meeting his member halfway. He positions it on top of your clit and leans down to take both of your hands in his, placing them over your head and holding them in place as he starts thrusting against you.

Every motion of his hard erection across your over-sensitive nub makes you shiver and moan, but the vision of Mycroft looming above you, eyes closed and mouth opened, panting hard is making you feel more aroused than any physical stimulation could. He gasps and moans at the contact and friction he is getting, the pleasure apparent on his face like an open book.

“Mycroft,” you gasp between heavy breaths and he opens his eyes to look down at you. His pupils are blown wide and a fine sheen of sweat has spread on his skin. Something in his gaze is wild and unfocused, like he is about to devour you, but there is also so much emotion in it, so much gentleness. “I love you too.”

He falters for a moment, but then picks up the pace again, while leaning down to catch your mouth in an aggressive kiss. You can only let it happen to you, overwhelmed by him dominating you, but at the same time, you feel unbelievably safe in his grasp. The tension builds within you as the friction between your legs doesn’t let up, and as Mycroft lowers his head to bite the skin of your neck, you can’t keep it in anymore.

With a shout of his name, you come, convulsing against him, arms straining against his grip, but he is relentless in holding you down. You squirm against him, a stream of nonsense leaving your lips, as he lifts his hips just a fraction and slips into you with one quick motion, the sudden feeling of fullness and pleasure prolonging your orgasm impossibly further as he shifts his position upwards, grabs your hips to hold you in place and pushing into you again and again.

Mycroft’s breath quickens fast, harsh gasps for air filling the room with noise. You look up to see his body between your legs, his member pushing into you. You can see where you are connected, that it is indeed real. He is moving fast, chasing his own orgasm, every push keeping you on a strange high, never really letting you come down, until you feel yourself building up again.

He manages a grin, as he feels it too, angles himself differently and that does it, as you come again, clenching around him. He feels impossibly hard inside you as your walls squeeze him, and he does not falter in his movement, fucking you right through your orgasm, even though you trash around underneath him, as the feeling gets too much for you to bear, tears forming in your eyes. Suddenly his movement stills and he presses himself even deeper into you and he comes with a low, guttural moan, while his body shakes, followed by heavy breathing. 

He wants to draw back, but you lock your legs around him, forcing him down and he manages a small smile before his lips finds you in a kiss sweeter than any before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe I'll write a continuation someday, but I don't know yet... Hope you liked it as much as I enjoyed writing it!


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